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Hoodwinked
Hoodwinked is the first pilot and episode of Gotham Knights, aside from the Prologue. It recounts the universe's version of events first told in The Man Behind the Red Hood. Synopsis A man is pressured by the mob to rob Ace Chemicals. Story The cards flew in a dynamic red and white arc before being interrupted by a hand and captured perfectly aligned. “Don’t tell me you aren’t worried,” their master commanded as he continued to shuffle the deck. “Worried about what, exactly?” The man across from the desk queried, clearly nervous about something or other. “Last night, of course.” “Well, it’s been on my mind,” he said in an oppressed tone. “I mean, Mr. Dorne, it’s not every night yer’ dinner party is crashed by a vigilante who startsss makin’ dreats.” “Maybe not my dinner,” the man, whose name was actually meant to be pronounced Thorne, said, “but I have been dealing with the Batman for a while now. But, thanks to you, Commissioner Loeb, he can’t touch me.” “It’s not just Bahtman I’m worried ‘bout. Gordon and Dent too,” Loeb replied, getting closer the edge of his seat and under Thorne’s desk lamp before pulling himself back down. He was a pudgy man with eyebrows thick enough to almost make up for the lack of hair on the rest of his head. He wore a black suit with a terrible choice of a pink, polka-dotted bow-tie. “Not just Gordon and Dent, but dey'r togeder and wid’ Bahtman too…” “Is that all? If I can put up with Batman for this long, then taking care of them will be easy enough.” Thorne said. He was also a rotund man, but not as pudgy as his guest. He wore a more tasteful, tan suit with a brown tie and had his grayed hear swept back. “I’ll get my men on it,” he promised just as he caught the cards again. ‡ ‡ ‡ The night was dark and grim, as it always was in Gotham. Partly thanks to its gothic architecture, partly thanks to the depressed mood generated by the crime rate. The trio that Loeb worried of met on the rooftop of the police department. Batman shrouded himself in the shadows while Gordon and Dent stood apart from each other yet both across from Batman, watching the door to the station below in case of an unwelcome guest; Commissioner Loeb had outlawed the Batman and all other potential future vigilantes. Gordon himself didn’t approve of vigilante methods, but the times had brought him to accept it for the better. Their system was simple. The vigilante, Batman, would attack, the officer, Gordon, arrest, and the attorney, Dent, prosecute. Corruption always got in the way. Proof always seemed to disappear or be ruled insubstantial. Gordon wore a brown jacket opened to reveal a button-up shirt and tie. He had a bushy, auburn mustache above his lip and wore square specs. His hair was also auburn and laid back. He spoke with a weary voice, he found fighting Thorne tedious. Yet, he knew he must be stopped and this was the best way he had to do it now. Most of the police did nothing. Gordon wasn’t like them. He actually had integrity and motivation; he wanted a safer city for his daughter. No bribes could make him give that up. Dent was flipping a silver dollar, it kept him calm, as he spoke up. "He got away. The court said they knew he probably was purchasing illegal weapons, but there wasn't any solid proof. They thought they hand-written receipt was a fake just because it was written in crayon." Gordon was disappointed, but he felt no different that usual. He had gotten used to it. They all had. He glanced around at his allies. Dent concentrating on his coin and then where Batman had been, but he was gone. He did that a lot. Not that the meeting would have gone on much longer. They couldn’t make progress without proof. ‡ ‡ ‡ Vicki sighed. It was a slow news day. She wanted to be investigating the bat-man and reporting the court cases, but that honor had gone to Jack Ryder. While Ryder got to report on vigilantes and mobs, she was stuck reviewing a comedian. Not a very good one either. She wasn't even that great at writing reviews, but Mr. Scott wouldn’t listen. On that particular evening, she had been dispatched by The Gotham Gazette, ''a newspaper, to review a new lounge, The Laughing Fish. It was a disaster. There were tanks filled with yellow water, but no fish. There was a comedian, but no laughing. Well, there was a bit, but weak laughs from the comedian himself, a Jack or a Joe. He had a thin face, dark hair, and a huge grin, almost frighteningly large. The crowd was nearly empty, only Vicki and Bruce Wayne, who had accompanied her, along with a few other couples, half of which seemed to be breaking up. That was not how she wanted their first date with him to be at all. Vicki accepted that it was her fault for bringing him with her to work. Now she understood why he had cancelled and rescheduled so often on account of business. The comedian finished and went behind the curtains,which were more like thin bed sheets. Vicki and Bruce left their table and exited the lounge into the city outside. Vicki was embarrassed at how the date had gone, and though she wanted a second chance, she was not about to bring up the topic. Bruce seemed no different than usual, but she still felt awkward and his serenity only added to that. After walking a while, the couple turned into Park Row, nicknamed Crime Alley after Bruce’s parents were murdered there by a mugger years ago. His serenity left him and he was a bit more uneasy now. Trying to keep her mind off of the date, Vicki turned her sights to the night sky to try and find beauty in nature. There was none. Not in Crime Alley. While shy wondered abysmally about what she could be writing and imagined the bat-man gliding between the building rows above, a pen tucked behind her ear fell out. As she reached down to grab it, a powerful hand reached down and grabbed her, pulled her close, and held a cold barrel of a gun to her head. As she was held by one of two mobsters, his partner approached Bruce, who was not far off, and pressured him with, “Give me your wallet and we won’t have any problems.” He had known this situation before, much younger than anyone should, not that anybody should ever have to go through it. Recollecting the tragic aftermath of how his father had refused a mugger the pearls around his mother’s neck, along with the pain and guilt that came with it. His thoughts raced until he heard a gunshot. Had he taken too long to answer? The muggers seemed just as surprised as he was and Vicki was unscathed, if not a little dirty from falling onto the scruffy slum street. Another figure holding a gun entered the scene. They could see his suit before his face, black, but with a purple glimmer before he came entirely into view. That Jack or Joe – the comedian – now had a stark face as he pointed the gun towards the man who had held Vicki. The mobster who had grabbed her wore a black suit with an ugly red and yellow tie and overly large, white sunglasses while his partner wore a similar suit with a plain tie, less garish glasses, and a fedora. “Let them go,” the comedian commanded. His voice wasn’t threatening at all, there was an insanity about him that could easily scare a common crook. The one who had grabbed Vicki looked down for his gun, but found its barrel pointing back at him with the woman’s finger at the trigger. The muggers ran away fast enough that a fedora nearly fell off of one of their heads. Though he obviously tried to stay serious, the line that was the comedian’s mouth began to twitch and crack into a larger grin as he asked, “Why did the crooks run ‘cross the road?” Ignoring the joke, Bruce and Vicki thanked the man gratefully. Vicki had something to write about, and Bruce didn’t have to relive his darkest moment. Right as Gordon and a couple of other officers arrived, an obese detective and his female, Hispanic assistant, the comedian had just admitted to the couple that his gun was a fake. After a private interview with the detective, the comedian went his separate ways with Bruce and Vicki who walked a few blocks farther to where Alfred had been waiting that whole time. They never caught the comedian’s name. He would remain just a Jack or a Joe in their minds and precious memories that could have easily ceased that night. ‡ ‡ ‡ The next night, Gordon met with the attorney and vigilante again in the same set-up, save for Harvey’s suit which was now white as opposed to his usual gray; he was feeling lucky. “Detective Bullock has been investigating the gun left in Crime Alley by the two of Thorne’s mobsters that fled after trying to mug Bruce Wayne and Vicki Vale last night,” Gordon spoke with a hint excitement, but he wouldn't let it grow. “The fingerprints can only narrow it down to about about ten people, assuming there is only one set aside from Ms. Vale’s, but any progress is good.” “But can we trust Bullock?” Batman asked. “Yes. Harvey Bullock is honest, if not rough around the edges. He does not approve of vigilantes though. He wants everything left up to the police, but you’ve seen where that has gotten us.” A slam, the spin of a roulette, and laughs rang from below. Meanwhile, as the triad reveled in their small victory, Thorne scolded his underlings, throwing a newspaper across his desk at them. They found on the page a headline reading “History Doesn't Repeat itself in Crime Alley – By Jack Ryder”. Throne shuffled his cards as he spoke, but more furiously than before. He was angry. “There will be an investigation,” he reminded the two men across from him as if they didn’t know already, “''and ''it could amount to something. I expect better from you, Sal. Being scared away by a fake gunshot....” The underling named Sal was disgraced. “It wasn’t my fault, sir, it was Eel here…” “I don’t care. You two feeble things got yourselves into this mess, and you are going to get yourselves out. I have a ''special' 'job for you two,” he said as the cards rolled while he irritably stared at Sal and Eel. “If you don’t mess it up, it will benefit us all. You need to take the trinity down before you are: Gordon, Dent, and the bat. They must be broken up before they trace their little souvenir back to ''you,” Thorne decreed.'' Both of the thugs asked how nervously at the same time, but in their own words which caused an odd vocal dissension, which only made Thorne angrier. “Think a little! Be creative! Take out one, and the rest will fall; you can’t touch the bat-man, at least alone, and I’m not wasting any more men on you. Gordon is replaceable. He might be one of the few good cops, but there are others: Bullock, Allen, Corrigan, O’Hara…just to name a few from Loeb’s list. Take a stab at Harvey Dent if you must know! He is the prosecutor, the final in their line. It doesn’t matter how many thugs are apprehended and arrested as long as the prosecutor can be bribed!” Thorne said that last part as he caught his deck and slammed it on the table, causing more of a disturbance than cards should. Sal and Eel left the office. Inspired by Thorne’s anger, Sal had a plan, but he needed a decoy. As cliché as it was, they returned to the scene of the crime, or they would have if something had not come up on the way. Across the street from The Laughing Fish, they witnessed the front door being rapidly opened and the comedian was flung out onto the ground by a large man. He may have been an unnamed hero, but that did not come with job security. Sal followed him as he stalked under streetlights, revealing his clear Italian heritage beneath them, with Eel close behind until they reached Crime Alley once again where they made their move. The ex-comedian noticed and then recognized them. Sal aimed his gun, ready to shoot, as he asked menacingly, “What was your name again, Funny-boy?” “Actually, it’s…” the comedian began flashing a cheeky smile as he held up his own gun. “…unimportant,” Sal finished for him. “And drop the phony firearm. We know it’s a fake.” “What do you want from me?” He asked as he lowered his arm. He now wore a large frown for once, as if his punch line had been stolen. “No, no, Funny-boy, it is what I can do for you. It appears to me that you are in a need of a job. Call me Boss. I’ve got work for you.” “Why should I accept? I’m no criminal,” he said as his smile started to heal. “Well, let’s see,” the Boss began, “the economy is bad… you’re a no-faced… failure… and I won’t pull this trigger if you accept. It wouldn’t hurt to dispose of a witness. I know dozens of men who make a living off of thievery and they are never caught, and if they are, the police easy to bribe anyway. Why, Funny-boy, this can only help you.” The man seemed to consider as he stared into space and stroked his chin. “So ‘Boss’, when do I begin?” “Tomorrow night meet us over there,” Sal said as he pointed into a dark alley, “for your fitting.” ‡ ‡ ‡ The next day came. Thorne grew angrier, there was no time to loose and his thugs were fiddling with failed-funny men. Vicki grew more scornful, Jack Ryder had written her ''story. Gordon grew more excited, the investigation was going well. When he could steal a moment away, around three o’clock in the afternoon, he took out a cell phone, nicknamed the bat-phone, distinguished by a red sticker with a crude drawing of a bat. Using it to contact Batman, he pressed a red button to immediately connect to him. He was answered by a British voice asking for a moment before his accomplice answered. “We found a few sets of fingerprints on the gun,” Gordon began, “Could you check out Ludvik Cipris, James Jansen, and Patrick O’Brian tonight to get started? “Sure thing, Jim,” the voice replied. Gordon began to say, “Thanks,” and, “Bye,” but found that Batman had already hung up. His habit of disappearing in the middle of a conversation carried over using the phone. When night fell, Bruce changed into his Batman costume. It was a tight, gray suit with dark blue briefs, boots, and gloves that were dark blue. A silver utility belt rounded above his waist and a matching oval was centered on his chest with a black, stylized bat. A blue bat-cowl to cover his face and a pointed cape that was blue on the inside and black on the outside completed the costume. As he finished getting ready, Batman got into his thin, black car which Alfred had nicknamed the Batmobile and drove off for his investigations. Meanwhile, Funny-boy was also getting ready. “The Boss” had provided him with a disguise: a red, domed helmet with a matching red cape and a black tuxedo with white gloves. Sal and Eel would not wear anything different than usual, suits and sunglasses. Sal had explained this ploy to Eel as a trick he learned years ago called pulling a red hood. The name coming from ''Little Red Riding Hood, the red hood would be nothing more than a decoy. He would look like a ringleader and take the attention from the masterminds, as Sal told Eel. The ex-comedian, however, was told it was to hide his identity for is first night out. Sal's plan was also simple. He knew Eel was going down. It was only a matter of time. Though Thorne had acids and other deadly substances in his stocks, he was not willing to share with Sal anymore, so Sal, Eel, and their new partner would steal acid from Ace Chemicals. Eel would go on trial when caught for the muggin, have the acid with him disguised as “stomach medicine” for his “nerves”, and fling it at Dent when he had the chance. In the chaos, Eel would escape and be smuggled out of the city. Dent would be mortally wounded. It was fool-proof, which was excellent, because Eel ''was ''a fool. Elsewhere, Batman had already found Cipris in his apartment and Jansen at his orchard, "interviewed" them both separately, and left them for Gordon and the police after they both refused to speak. He continued his search. O’Brian wasn’t in his apartment, but a coded letter signed by someone calling himself “The Boss” told him that they would be shopping around for Ace's drinks that evening. Making the connetion, Batman headed back into his car to check the chemical plants around the city. Sal, Eel, and the Red Hood entered Ace through an opening skylight which made it the choice venue for criminals. It had been installed by an insider at the request of Thorne during innovations a few years back. The skylight was close enough to the security office that Sal and Eel were able to infiltrate it and confine the guard on duty with ease. The trio stalked on a catwalk towards a vat where Eel struggled with some machinery. Hood helped him to work it; apparently he was also a failed chemical engineer before he was a failed comedian, which made Sal feel even less assured. A bright, green liquid ran from a nozzle into a vial held by Sal which was corked just as the skylight shattered and countless pieces of glass fained from above. They were unhurt, but frightened. Batman was looking down at them from the sky above. The Red Hood bowed his head and clapped his hands together, praying for his life. Sal and Eel, though frightened, aimed their guns at the Dark Knight. Batman assumed that the man in the costume was “The Boss” and that one of the thugs must have been O’Brian. The thugs shot a few times at him and missed his body but ripped a hole in the cape once, partly thanks to agility and partly to bad aiming (their targeting got worse under pressure), before they gave up and fled with the vial into the security office. They took the guard, who had been duct-taped to a rolling chair, and wheeled him towards the exit as a hostage. Throwing a batarang at the men, he caused one of them to trip and let go of the chair as it rolled to the side towards a vat before halting right on the brink. The other didn’t waste any time escaping, as his partner and the captive lay on the floor, dazed and frightened. The Red Hood begged Batman to let him go, but he wouldn’t. As the Dark Knight advanced closer, The Red Hood stepped back making pleas and feeble, nervous laughs before falling into a vat, giving one final giggle before making a splash and being heard no more. Batman looked into the ghastly, opaque liquid. He recognized it as poisonous and deadly, “The Boss” had surely perished he thought. So he walked away to help the guard and detain the fallen mobster. Gordon stood by and sighed as Bullock interviewed Jansen; nothing to help the case. They did learn however, that he had been smuggling diamonds and other stolen jewels in grapes, so the night may not have been a total loss. Gordon’s bat-phone began to vibrate, so he left Bullock to answer. “Hello?” he asked. “I’ve got another over at Ace,” a voice answered back before hanging up quickly. “Typical,” Gordon thought as he made his way to his car and left for the chemical plant. Arriving, he briefly spoke with Batman and received a brief rundown. There were three criminals; one dead in a vat, one escaped, and one here on the floor. Gordon looked into the man’s Italian complexion before turning back to thank Batman and realizing he was gone, again. Back at the police department, Bullock’s assistant, Renee Montoya, examined the man’s fingerprints. “They match a pair on the gun,” she confirmed. Gordon couldn’t believe his luck. This man was not Patrick O’Brian. He hadn’t asked Batman to find Sal Maroni, yet here he was, as if delivered on a silver platter. Eel reported to Thorne, who was once again furious, shuffling his cards faster and more vigorously than before. “But, sir,” Eel said, “Sal had a plan, sir. He thought I would be on the stand, but he still has a plan. He can take my place, sir,” Eel said this without realizing he had never actually told Thorne Sal’s plan. “And it had better work. If it doesn’t, you will personally be escorted out of this city in a pine box,” he said furiously, banging his card deck even harder on his desk than before. One card escaped from his grip as he did: a Joker of the deck stared up at Eel.